STORM STORY
by KKBELVIS
Summary: Simply what the title says. A freak storm. White-line fever. A car wreck. A little bit of hurt Sam. A little bit of hero Dean. A little bit of Bobby - and a little bit of crazy - all mixed well and served straight up
1. Chapter 1

STORM

STORY

By: Karen B.

Summary: Simply what the title says. A freak storm. White-line fever. A car wreck. A little bit of hurt Sam. A little bit of hero Dean. A little bit of Bobby -- and a little bit of crazy -- all mixed well and served straight up.

Disclaimer -- Not my fault Kripke's twister keeps sucking my house up into his funnel and dropping me somewhere Supernatural. Hope I don't land on the brilliantly-wicked man.

Note: Written 'cause I love the rain, and a good storm. This story is complete -- will post more very soon.

Sunshine always, even in times of stormy rain,

Karen

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I opened my eyes -- wide awake and alert. Life sure could change in the twitch of... I glanced down.

"What the?" I looked to my left.

One minute you're rescuing Kelly Clarkson from the paparazzi and thinking of creative ways she could repay the favor -- the next -- you're sitting in the passenger seat, listening to Meatloaf's Paradise By The Dashboard Light, staring at your oversized, Sasquatch for feet little brother who just so happens to be sitting behind the wheel of your priceless, classic car.

"Damn it, just when the dream starts to get interesting." I stretched, sitting up and scrubbing at my eyes. "Utter lunacy." I dug around on the seat next to me. "We out of water?"

"Uh-huh," Sam mumbled.

"Man, I must have been in dreamland for awhile." I shivered against the chilly night wind blowing in through my half-rolled down window.

"Not long enough," Sam mumbled.

"Hysterical, Sam." I rolled my eyes. "I love this song." Cranking up the tune and singing along. "Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night I can see paradise by the dashboard light. "Clearing my throat, I glanced at the clock. "What time is it, anyway? One in the morning," I answered myself. "Shit. No wonder I'm starving to death." I cranked the window up, leaving it open just a crack and noting how jet-black everything was -- not so much as a streetlight. A thick fog rolled across the road nearly covering the double yellow line dividing the deserted highway. "Yikes, this weather sucks."

"Uh-huh."

I dug in my jacket pocket finding my last stick of Big Red next to my traveling toothbrush.

"Where are we, anyway?" Unwrapping the gum, I popped the stick in my mouth -- chewing happily.

"Uh-huh."

"B.F.E." I surmised, cracking a bubble.

"Uh-huh."

_And now our bodies are oh so close and tight. It never felt so good, it never felt so right. And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife. C'mon! Hold on tight!C'mon! Hold on tight!_

"Boy, I'd love to see Kelly Clarkson by the dashboard light," I waggled a brow at Sam.

"Uh-huh."

**Beep.**

**Beep.**

**Beep.**

The universal signal for The Emergency Broadcast System put an end to my favorite Meatloaf song.

"This is a test, this is only a test," I garbled over the announcement. "If this were an actual emergency… you would be instructed to: put- your- head -between- your- knees- and -kiss your- ass- good bye, right Sam?" I laughed, darting a look at baby brother -- Sam wasn't amused, just kept studying the road ahead.

"Bro, loosen up." I stopped laughing, listening to the radio announcer.

"The tropical depression will seriously affect the entire listening area. With hurricane force wind gusts that could reach speeds of 60-70 miles per hour."

"That's going to slow us down."

"Uh-huh."

"Residents are instructed to find shelter and stay indoors, stay away from downed power lines, and avoid flooded roads until the storm passes. Now we take you back to our regular programming," The announcer concluded.

"Damn it." Meatloaf had ended, and some chick named Patsy Cline took over.

_'Crazy, crazy for feeling so lonely. Crazy. Crazy for feeling so blue.'_

"Ewww, gawd, I'll go crazy if I listen to this song." I flicked the knob, turning the radio off.

We continued down the twining, long, black river of a road that was lined on either side with trees. Withered, crunchy leaves blew across the pavement, tumbling about, fooling Sam a time or two into thinking they were living entities as he veered to avoid them.

"Guess we won't be hooking up with Bobby or those beers anytime soon." I spit my gum into my palm, stuffing the wad out my cracked window.

"Uh-huh."

I stared at the guy behind the wheel. That was one to many 'uh-huh's' -- native Sam for -- 'not tonight, honey, I have a headache.'

"What's your deal?"

"Uh-huh."

"Hey, man." Sam was sheet white, dark circles underlining glazed eyes. "Can you talk?" I asked. "Speak-a-de-English? Seen my baby brother? Tall guy." I waved a hand over the top of my head for emphasis. "Tibetan Yak hair-do, talks non-stop -- like a girl?"

"Shut up, Dean."

"I like you better when you're Sleepy -- Grumpy," I chuckled. "So really, where are we, Dopey?" I leaned forward searching for a road sign.

Sam shrugged.

"You got us lost -- didn't you?" I questioned in annoyance, not seeing one road sign. "Mister, I can spin in a circle three times blindfolded, and still find my way to the donkies balls, is lost?"

"Ass, Dean. You pin the tail on the donkies ass… and I'm not lost." Sam ducked his head, in his lame attempt to hide his embarrassment. "Just forgot for a moment where we are, that's all."

"Uh-huh," I teased.

"Dude." Sam shot me 'the' look. "Like you never got turned around or missed an exit."

The wind picked up more, scattering branches and debris about the graveyard of a highway. My baby's tires crossed from pavement to gravel shoulder -- bumping roughly along.

"Damn it, Sam! Keep her on the friggin' road." I held on to the dash.

"Crappy tires. She needs a wheel alignment," Sam simply stated, easing us back onto the pavement.

"Sam, those are fighting words. Don't listen to him, baby." Ungluing my fingers, I gave baby a reassuring pat, relaxing back. "Your wheels are aces with me," I laughed, nudging Sam with an elbow jab, he didn't even complain. Just kept staring out the windshield intently. I stared too, wondering what he was seeing. " Hey there, you okay?" I got serious.

"Fog's thick," Sam uttered in a hoarse voice, squinting through tired eyes, and I felt the car pick up speed.

"Your head's thicker."

"Whatever."

"Sam, how many hours have you been driving without a break?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

"I'm fine, Dean," I copycatted, using a piercing whine that was sure to irritate my brother. The storm outside continued to blow things around and an eerie feeling crept over me as flood worthy rain began to fall. "You have white-line fever, man. I should drive for a while, pull over."

"You're not the only one who knows how to drive, Dean."

"Uh-huh."

The wind grew stronger, louder, carrying the occasional branch, leaves, Kmart bag, -- flying monkey. I sat forward peering out at the winding road ahead. Something much larger came at us out of the darkness. "Whoa!" I slammed back in my seat, watching a large plank of wood narrowly miss the windshield, and sail up over the roof of the car.

_I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, staring at Sam. _"You see that?" I asked, Sam didn't even look like he'd flinched.

"I missed it, Dean -- didn't I?"

"Pull over, man, before a house lands on my baby."

"No," Sam stubbornly argued.

"You suck," I shot back.

"Likewise."

"Just do it."

"Why?"

"Look here, kid… because… I'm older and wiser."

"No." Sam half-smiled, knowing damn well he was grating on my last nerve.

"Not funny, man. You know I don't have a very high tolerance for that word, Sam, so pull the freak over -- now!

"Where do you want me to pull over to, Dean?" Sam growled. " I don't see a bar, strip joint, or all girls school anywhere near by -- do you?" Sam gave a sidelong look my way.

"Smart-ass."

"I can handle driving in this, okay?"

"Okay, Jeff Gordon. Just… will you at least slow your Nascar-ass down. Crash and burn -- equals no checkered flag," I clued Sam in. "And try to avoid hitting anything that might fly our way."

Sam slowed down a few notches, per request, but the storm didn't. The wind whistled, the driving rain now falling like an ocean. If I couldn't see the road, I knew no way Sam could. I flipped the radio back on, only getting static. The headlights were next, flickering, then dimming, then going completely black.

"This does not feel like an ordinary storm," I mumbled. "Seriously, bro, maybe we should try to find…"

There was no time to find the Jolly Green Giant standing in the center of Central Park, wearing a hard-on -- let alone avoid the runaway bullet disguiesed as a large tree trunk heading our way out of the dark

TBC

Story is complete. Will post more soon.


	2. Chapter 2

STORM

STORY

-2-

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It was dark and I was freezing. What was this place? Some kind of cave -- an igloo? I became aware of the heavy sound of water hitting metal.

**Plink.**

**Plink.**

Waterfall?

Carwash?

No -- hail storm

Thunder rolled and I shivered hard. Crap, everything hurt, but mostly my head. I was dizzy, felt like I was titling, about to fall off a cliff. I shifted, hearing the squeak of leather.

No cliff -- car.

"Ummm," a low moan issued from my dry as dust throat.

My hand on auto-pilot went to my temple, something warm and sticky moistening my fingertips.

Honey?

Sweat?

No -- blood.

My eyes flew open -- took a minute to adjust to the darkness -- I was slumped down in my seat, staring right at the face of the person sitting only a few inches next to me. He was leaning back against the driver seat. Big, gangly kid -- floppy, unruly hair hanging down over his eyes. He wasn't moving.

Sleeping?

Unconscious?

Dead?

A huge icy hole formed in the center of my belly, making me feel scared and sick. What the hell? Name, name, give me a name.

Kelly Clarkson in paradise.

No.

The Paparazzi.

No.

Damn, just a dream.

I remembered a dark road.

Meatloaf.

I was starving.

In my car -- but I'm not driving.

A storm warning.

A tree -- impersonating a bullet.

He can handle it -- my ass.

Wrecked.

The cluttered pieces all of a sudden floated back into sequence.

"Son of a…" I shot straight up. "…Sam!" My head hitting the interior roof of the car. "Shit." Frantically, I scooted across the seat. "Sammy?" I patted his cheek gently. Nothing. A lump of wet sand replaced the dryness in my throat, my hand trembling as I reached to his neck. "Please," I whispered, pressing two fingers into cold skin, searching for my brother's heartbeat.

There, offbeat, fluctuating wildly, but there.

"Thank, God."

I shook my head, gathering my wits, and popping open the glove box, retrieving the Mag-lite. I took a second to take inventory, shining the awesome little beam around. The wind howled and the rain came down harder. The engine had cut out, and the dashboard lights, but outside the high beams blasted eerily through the darkness. A flash of light turned everything completely white, followed by a loud clap of thunder sending electricity rumbling through me. I sucked in a breath, watching the trees outside bend toward the ground just as the smell of oil, gasoline, dirt and fungus hit me. We'd spun off the road -- landed in a shallow ditch. I swiveled around, shining the beam to the backseat. Took a moment to absorb what I was seeing. The tree Sam had 'not' avoided now lay fallen on the trunk of the Impala, crushing the back half of my baby's body. The roof was caved inward, the rear windshield completely shattered, and a tangle of large limbs filled the entire backseat in a snarled, sappy mess.

"Son of a bitch." The branches were so packed in even the quarter-sized pelts of rain couldn't make their way inside. "Son of a bitch," I repeated in a whisper, realizing if the tree had fallen on the front half of the car, Sam and I would be packed inside our steel coffin, like those stinky, headless fish my father used to eat. I grimaced remembering the smell, listening to the wind blow harder-- shaking the car. I reached inside my jacket pocket, pulled out my cell, and flipped the phone open -- no service. "Of course not!" Metal moaned and groaned, the fallen tree bumping and banging, the wind lurching the Impala forward. We weren't safe here, we needed to find shelter. Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I set the Maglite on the dash, directing the beam to illuminate Sam's ashen face.

"Sam. We have to go." I jostled his shoulder gently.

"Ahh," Sam moaned.

"Sam." I moved to stroke his cheek.

His eyes opened and closed as he mumbled something that sounded like an apology.

"It's okay, bro." His hand reached up and I took it. "Sam, you hearing me?"

Another low moan.

"Sam, sound off!" I used my best 'boot camp dad' voice.

"Y's, sir," Sam moaned again.

"That's a start. Can you open your eyes all the way?"

He blinked once.

"Where?" he crocked his question.

"In your magic princess castle -- bitch," I tried to laugh, but came up short.

"Where?" Sam's eyes cracked open more, and I cringed not hearing the usual reply the 'bitch' word got me. "Where? Where are…" As much as Sam tried he couldn't keep his eyes open for long.

"It's okay, Sam." Time to get serious. "I'm right here."

"D'n." He fought to take in a simple breath.

"Where you hurt?" I anxiously inquired, leaning in closer.

"Um?" Sam struggled to bring his head up off the seat, his breath sounding a bit shallow.

"Slow, take it slow." I put a palm to his chest holding him still. "Just stay put and rest a minute, bro."

"Where's this place?" Sam was staring at me, glossy eyes fixed and unfocused.

"Only two kinds of places to be, Sam -- good and bad. Pick one." I paused, affording Sam a minute to gain his bearings. He blinked curiously, posture hunched, body shaking. "Sam?" I pushed for an answer, worried about how pale his skin was -- even in the dark.

"Bad." Sam glanced around. "Didn't… avoid the…" He frowned, obviously having to think for a moment."…The tree," he delivered his answer with slow uncertainty.

"Ding, ding, ding. Give the man a lollipop to suck on." I smiled -- Sam only continued to frown..

"Rather sip a Slurpee." Sam tried to sit up straighter and his whole body tightened. "Gaaa!" Pain suddenly crossing his face.

"Hey, hey, hey." I guided a hand to his thighs, arms, then up under his jacket checking his ribs, searching for the cause of his discomfort -- not so much as a drop of blood or misplaced bone.

"Dean." Sam's head rolled from side to side.

"Where?" I demanded, still finding nothing. "Sammy, where?"

"Hurts," he gasped.

"I know. I know." Afraid of moving him, I slipped a hand behind him, feeling around on his back.

"There!" he cried out just as my fingers brushed against something sticking into his upper right shoulder blade. "Ahhh, gawwwd!"

"Easy, don't move." I bit my lip, not wanting to let the panicked four-letter curse word out -- for Sam's sake. "Correction, three kinds of situations, Sam -- good, bad, and worse." I grabbed the Maglite from the dash, scrambling up onto my knees, and peering over into the backseat.

I ground my teeth together as my eyes confirmed the horror. A branch, about the size of a broom handle was jammed through the back of the driver seat, running straight into Sam's upper shoulder. Friggin' had to hurt like everybody's business. I sat back next to him, peeling his jacket away --no exit wound.

"You find what it is?" Sam asked, seeming to gain some semblance of control.

"Your shoulder."

"Wh-what's it look like?" he asked, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"Like it hurts. You're a sasquatch…" I shook my head. "On a stick."

"Wha'?

"The tree you failed to avoid…" I explained, trying to keep the shakiness from my voice.

"Yeah?" Sam panted.

"It got you in the shoulder." I ducked my head lower, holding Sam's gaze. "Reality check, Sam."

"Go for it." he cringed.

"We got no car. No phone. This storm is bad, we need to find shelter. Can't sit here waiting for Dorothy to drop another house…er'…tree on us." I gave a curt nod. "I've got to…"

"Take it out." Sam let loose his hold on my jacket, turning his head away from me. "Do it, Dean. Now."

There was good news and bad news. The bad news was I needed to get Sam out of the Impala, someplace warm and sheltered from the freak storm. Ripping him off a giant toothpick, like Shish Kobe -- wasn't going to be fun. Good news was -- the branch was lodged in his shoulder away from vital organs. More bad news -- blood loss, infection, shock would take hold fast.

"Look, Sam, give me a minute." I reached for the car keys, pulling them out of the ignition. "I'm going to go get us some supplies out of the trunk first. Say still, stay awake," I ordered, gruffly. "You got it?"

I hesitated, staring at him, not wanting to leave, even for a second. Another bolt of lighting scored a hit, jolting the car and my heart.

"Dean, just go," Sam urged, obviously picking up on my concern. "What's the worst that can happen in sixty-seconds?" He forced a smile through the pain.

"I could get zapped -- gone in sixty seconds," I joked.

"Odds of being scorched…" Sam breathed heavily. "700,000 to one."

"No wonder your head is so ginormous -- it's a warehouse full of crap information."

"Shut up."

"Just sit tight." I patted Sam's good shoulder, shoved the car door open, and slid out into the pouring rain.

Opening the trunk, I snatched the weapon's bag, and a few other essentials for our hike out into the perfect storm. True to my word, I was only gone for sixty-seconds, fast, but not fast enough. By the time I crawled back into the car I was soaked, and Sam -- Sam was out cold.

"Just as well, pal." I pulled a wad of gauze, and bandage wrap from the pack, stuffing the material into my pocket for quick access. Setting the bags down on the floorboard, I turned my attention to Sam. "Only one way to do this," I growled in light of the unpleasant task. I needed to be quick and fast, hoping I could slip Sam off the branch as pain free as possible. "Okay, Sam, ready to do this?" I kept talking, hoping he could hear me somewhere in his subconscious. "Gonna get a little bumpy here, bro." I struggled in the passenger seat to get a better angle. I needed to be quick. Pull Sam off the branch, stop the gush of blood, and get him the hell out of the car. "Try not to wake up, okay?" I pushed Sam's bangs away from his forehead, my heart pounding, sweat beading on my upper lip. Normally I didn't succumb to my fears, but I made an exception in this case. I was about to cause my baby brother extreme pain. I only hoped he'd stay unconscious. "Let's do this." I took a deep breath, the positioning was awkward the steering wheel in my way. I gripped Sam by both shoulders, toughening myself. "On three, okay?" Sam didn't acknowledge -- good. "One, two…" I violently and crudely wrenched him forward.

"Gaaaa!" A bloodcurdling cry filled the car, instinct sending Sam thrashing, trying to break away from my hold

"Sam!" I pulled him against me, trying to control his movements. "Sam, come on, man." I reached inside my pocket for the gauze and hard-pressed the padding to his back, already feeling the wetness of blood. "Easy!" I spoke directly in his ear. "You're free of the branch and…"

"I…I know." Sam flinched.

"Sam, hold still. I've got you. Just let me get us out of the car."

Sam's whole body quivered violently, pain hitting hard.

"Grrrrrrr….." He gave a long moan, reflexively grabbing a handful of my jacket to keep from slumping backward onto the branch. "Dean, I can't."

"Yes you can. We can do this." I grabbed the Maglite from the dash, and scrambled backward, getting a good handhold easing Sam across the seat. "Sam, stay with me."

"I'm here," Sam gasped. "What about the car?"

"Screw the friggin' car."

"Surprised you haven't yet." Sam's whole body tensed.

"Funny. Come on, little brother. Easy, I know this sucks."

"Where would you put your…"

"Sam, enough with screwing the car!" I yelled above the roar of the wind and rain, lowering him along with me out of the car into the raging storm and straight to the wet, muddy ground. "That's it, man." I handed him the flashlight. "Try not to drop it."

Sam took the light, his hand shaking, watching me as if nothing made sense except the pain. I quickly pulled more bandages from my pocket, easing him forward and wrapping the wound, trying to stop the gush of blood.

"Ready?" I nodded, hovering to shield him as best I could from the driving rain.

"Can't…can't stop shaking," Sam's teeth chattered.

"It'll be okay, kid," I lied.

The wind was blowing rain in my eyes, the splitting of branches breaking off the trees and blowing through the air -- I could barely see. Holding Sam steady I inched around him. Stretching toward the open car door, fumbling for our gear I'd left on the floorboards. Pulling the pack up to my shoulder, I wrapped an arm around Sam and brought him teetering to his feet.

"Cold," he groaned.

"You going to complain the whole time we are out here, like a girl on cramp-pons?" I gave Sam a minute to gain his balance.

"Tampons," Sam corrected, wobbling to and fro.

"You would know, Samantha." I searched his face, little brother wasn't going to make it too far.

I had to find us shelter and fast. I knew we wouldn't find anything along the roadside, Sam had taken us down one hell of a country road. I headed us into the trees, hoping to find an overhang of rocks, a cave, a ditch -- Hotel Bates. I'd take anything at this point in time.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

STORM

STORY

-3-

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We'd only been walking about thirty minutes, the wind had picked up and Sam was already fading-- stumbling -- faltering. He barely could man the flashlight, its usual awesome beam hardly cutting through the darkness and mostly pointing toward the ground. The intermediate flashes of lightning didn't help, only served to make the little hairs on my neck stand on end -- not an easy thing to do.

"700,000 to one -- my ass," I grumbled as the sky lit up again.

**Bam! **

Thunder cracked, and a tree limb fell, smoldering, only a few feet away from us.

"Holy crap!" I nearly flinched out of my skin, Sam didn't so much as hiccup. I wanted to stop and check his wound, but thought better of it, moving us along. "Sam," I panted, the wind taking my breath away. "We got to… got to keep moving." I hooked him closer to my side. "You think you can?"

I could just make out the small thumbs up sign Sam gave as he leaned weakly against me. The rain had bulked us both down with extra poundage, soaking through our heavy jackets right down to the skin. The drops pelting our faces distorted the area and felt like a thousand tiny ice picks as we weaved in and out of the trees. Sam was having more and more difficulty keeping pace.

"This is nuts. What the hell is going on?" I reached up to swipe away the little bit of blood that still leaked from the gash on my head. Sam didn't answer. "Feel like a couple of drowning moles. I can't see a thing, you?" Sam stumbled, slowing. I pulled him upward. "Okay?" I looked at him. "Sam, I asked if you were okay?"

'Not really.' He shivered his answer, not even an uh-huh.

"Swell. Bro, we can't stop yet," I rasped, spitting raindrops out my mouth. Sam slowed further, I could feel his exhaustion -- his body going limper by the minute, like a melting snowflake. "How's the shoulder?"

"Good." I barely heard the whisper.

"Good, huh? No pain?" Sam lied, nodding agreement. "Then you wouldn't mind pulling a Tarzan Lord of the Jungle. We could swing from tree to tree until we're out of this storm. Me Tarzan, you Jane. " I laughed. "Deal?" Sam didn't answer, his next step seeming to go straight through the soupy ground. "Hey!" I hiked him back up. "You hearing me?"

"D'n." Sam seemed spaced out, fumbling with the flashlight -- I fumbled with Sam.

Lightning flashed and I saw his eyes do little dance and roll.

"Sam!" I struggled to hold him up. "No kissing the earth! Sammy!" My loud, panicked voice seemed to snap him back to attention. Sam murmured something, his equilibrium way off base.

"Hurts. A lot," he finally admitted, gagging once.

"You going to spew?"

"Hope so." Sam lowered his head against the wind, anchor heavy, the flashlight's beam shining up, down, all around.

"Sam, try to keep going," My voice was raw from talking over the wind. I could feel him begin to relax. "Sam, please." If at all possible, I pulled my brother closer, trudging forward.

The wind whirled, and rain pounded against our backs. My fingers were numb -- feet too. A snaggletooth bolt came shooting down from the sky close to striking distance. I cringed hard, Sam only moaned. "Come on, already!" I yelled angrily at the sky. Squinting through the sluices of rain, I could see a charcoal outline. Another bolt of lightning seemed to surge through my veins. "Sammy, I see something, looks like a building or shack of some sort." Poor kid only nodded. "Sam, keep walking." I headed us with renewed speed toward what I hoped would be enough shelter. "Almost there, just a little more."

Sam was done, dragging his feet. We stumbled up three steps to a small porch. I didn't bother knocking at the door, just raised a booted foot and kicked. The door smacked open with the help of the forceful wind. We weren't two steps inside when the flashlight hit the wooden floor, and I felt Sam slip away from my hold. I dropped my pack from my shoulder, catching Sam before he could land next to the Maglite. Scooping him up in my arms, I wrestled my way over to what looked like a mouse-infested mattress in the corner of the single room.

"Here we are, Sam." I laid him down slowly.

"Dean." Sam's eyes fluttered open, shut, then open again. "Don't want to walk anymore."

"You don't have to, buddy." I brushed the wet hair clinging to his forehead back away from his eyes. "Shit," I cursed under my breath, noting Sam was running a fever. The wind sucked the open door shut with a bang, Sam jolted upward, with a cry of pain, trembling all over.

"It's okay. It's okay." I pressed him back." Sam calmed immediately, glancing around the room.

"This some sort of hunting shack?"

I stood, the wooden floorboards creaking loudly. Retrieving the fallen flashlight, I shined the beam on the door -- nice -- broke the lock.

Turning, and aiming the fading beam around the room, I grumbled, "Not the Hotel Bates, or Hotel - Paris - Hilton. You said you'd take anything, Dean," I reminded myself. "This beats the hell out of a cave, an overhang of rocks, or ditch, huh, Sam?" The beam of light fell on a small, dirty sink full of rusted pots and pans, a shredded sleeping bag, an army of dust bunnies, and several obviously empty cookie boxes that were blown around the small one room cottage. "Girl Scout cabin, an unused one by the looks of things. No HBO," I huffed. "Rug Rats didn't even leave us a box of Thin Mints." Chuckling, I turned to Sam, suddenly realizing I was talking to myself -- he was out.

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The whirlwind outside continued -- crazy-insane -- banging against the roof and rattling all four sides of the rundown cabin. I had Sam's shirt off, on his belly, stretched out on the crappy mattress, threading stitch number five through the jagged flesh of his shoulder, and hoping the walls would hold until the storm passed. I worked by the light of a few candles I found. The awesome flashlight wasn't so awesome anymore, propped up using a few of the rusted pots and pans. Even after changing out the batteries, I was having a hell of a time seeing, my repair job -- piss poor at best. Sam was unconscious, but still trembled beneath my touch. After each stitch I stopped to dab at the wound with a blood-soaked cloth. He was still loosing blood and I just couldn't sew fast enough in these conditions. I continued, having a hard time ignoring the way my brother's body flinched every now and again.

"Sh." I breathlessly hushed, wincing each time Sam jerked. "Sorry."

I passed the needle through again, bright red blood bubbling up and slipping down the side of his back to soak the mattress. Sam's fingers twitched, then his arms, and legs. Crap, he was coming to, his skin only half-knit together. "Sam?" His eyes flickered, and a chill visibly swept across his bare back -- he was cold, even though he was hot with fever. "You in there, man?" Sam's breathing picked up, slowed, then picked up again. "Easy, kiddo. Just don't move…" I barred my teeth. "... Easy," I hissed.

I sent the needle straight through tissue, tugging the point out as quickly as I could and pulling taunt. The action triggered a muscle spasm, Sam's shoulder bulging, fighting the pain.

"Uhhhhh." Sam recoiled, fingers scrabbling, digging into the dirty mattress. "Dean." He raised his head up off my jacket that I'd used as a makeshift pillow. "Ghaaa!" He half-turned toward me, eyes crossed like he'd been reading a book -- upside down. "Wha' you doing?"

"Whistling Dixie out my asshole," I mumbled in frustration, swiping drops of sweat out of my blurring eyes.

"No, no, no." Sam struggled. "Hurts. Let me up!"

"Sam!" I pressed his head gently back down. "I have to stitch your shoulder back together," I informed, taking his hand, and leaning over so he could see me. "Hold still."

"K." Sam calmed as soon as he saw me, pressing his body into the mattress, but still flinching every time the needle entered his skin.

We'd been here before. Poking, prodding, wrapping, stitching. The pain never got easier. Sam fought hard to keep still, drawing in a harsh breath when the needle pierced his skin, then breathing out slowly as I pulled the sharp point through -- tugging the thread tight. I could tell it was nearly too much for him.

"How many more," he gulped, the side of his face I could see -- twisted.

"So…700,000 to one, bro…guess we beat the odds, huh?" I tried to distract him.

Needle in.

Sam hid his face in my jacket.

Needle out.

"Ehhhh." His tone muffled, but not so much I didn't hear or feel his pain.

"Talk to me, Sam." I dabbed at the wound, clearing away more blood.

"Holy, fucking, shit! Ow!"

"Talk, Sam, not swear."

"About?" Sam's fingers clamped and reclamped in the mattress, holding tight, forcing himself to stay still.

I pieced his skin, causing more hemorrhaging to spurt out, sliding the needle through a thick layer of solid muscle.

"Ow-ha-ha-ha! You son of a bitch!." Sam cursed me, taking in a few deep breaths. "Sorry, Dean," he mumbled his apology.

"Don't worry. Just talk about something."

"L...like wha'?"

"I don't know. Enlighten me with your big brain."

Needle in.

" 'Kay." Sam sucked in a deep breath. " Flying fish…" he choked. " …Can jump out of the water at…grrrr… 20mph."

"Uh-huh."

Sam's skin resisted and I pressed harder to poke the needle out.

"Pine…ehhhhh…gawww…pine…pineapples are a large berry."

"You don't say."

Needle in.

"The typical lovemaking session....shit.... aaaaa…averages 15 minutes."

"Dude, speak for yourself."

Needle out.

"French tickler was invented by a….crap." Sam shivered. "…Tibetan monk."

"You know about French ticklers?" I couldn't help but laugh. "There's hope for you yet, geek boy."

"Not a geek." Sam snarled, then gagged. "Quick-witted."

Needle in.

The wind bellowed a haunting cry, or was that Sam. I couldn't tell as his face was shoved deeper into the jacket.

Needle out -- last time.

"All done, my brother."

"Only five calories in…" Sam panted, squirming as I tied off the last stitch.

"In what?"

"…In a teaspoon of semen." He turned his head to one side, peering at me through wet, pain-filled eyes.

"What possible reason could you ….Dude!" I paused. "Why the hell would you know something like that?"

"Tired." Sam shifted to his side, letting out a long breath, and finally relaxing.

"Yeah, pal." I carefully patted his arm. "You've had enough for now. Just sleep."

As fast as I'd said the word, Sam fadded into sleep as I gently dressed the wound and eased him back into his shirt and jacket.

My hands were shaking by the time I was done, cold numb and coated slick with Sam's blood. I'd seen a lot of gore in my time, plenty, and never lost one cookie, but when it comes to Sam that's a totally different animal. I tore my gaze from my hands, didn't have time to be deleting cookies from my gut. Twisting on the balls of my feet, I glanced over my shoulder at the dirty sink, probably no running water.

I coached myself over to lean against the counter. Keeping myself standing, I turned the faucet on, producing a small stream of brown water -- enough to wash the blood off. My clothes were sopping wet, sticky and uncomfortable. I hadn't even bothered to grab a change -- the least of my worries right now.

I held the back of my hand against my mouth to keep from gagging. Unable to stand on my feet, I slid to the floor, watching Sam, listening to his heavy breathing, the rain washing down, wind whipping, thunder rumbling and lightning crashing.

"It was a dark and stormy night," I grumbled, remembering howI used to tell Sammy bedtime tales -- remembering how much I hated the storm stories.

TBC

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	4. Chapter 4

STORM

STORY

-4-

Summary: Conclusion. Here cometh the little bit of crazy, and little bit of Bobby.

Thank you so much for sticking with.

Sunshine, Karen

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The wind howled a low mournful sound, like it was crying, things outside blowiing harder and hitting the cabin all around.

"What the..." I must have fallen asleep. Quickly, I scrambled up off the floor eyeing every wall, nook, and cranny. Something felt off…way off.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang, like a freight train colliding with another freight train.

Sam sat bolt upright teetering -- eyes automatically riveted to mine.

A bright flash of light filled my vision, a thunderbolt crashed through the roof striking the center of the wooden floor. A whirlwind of thick, green fog descended into the room, rain and debris twisting around inside the cabin. The flashlight went out -- candles, too. Out? Hell, they were pulled into the spiraling mist.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, his voice dosed with fear. "What's happening?" The violent whirlpool nearly drown out his words; sucking up everything like a vacuum hose --sucking up the mattress -- sucking up Sam.

"Sammy!" I took in a deep breath, half stumbling, half-crawling my way over to him, fingers scrambling to latch on to any part of him. The pea soup type fog tugged, now threatening to suck us both up into its vortex. I glued my feet firmly to the floor.

_Dead weight, Dean._

_Dead weight._

_Dead weight._

The only thought racing through my mind as I drug Sam off the filthy mattress just before it was flung to the otherside of the cabin.

I couldn't see the door or a way out. I backed Sam into a far corner wishing I could nail him to the wall. Hunching down protectively in front of him, I faced the storm. Extending my arms, and bracing them against each wall, forming a trinagular barrirer with my own body, desperate to keep my feet on the ground -- Sam safe.

Everything shook -- churned -- twirled, the temperature dropping twenty degrees. We hunkered down, the air energized with more static charges and pops from the freak storm. Squinting to see through the dark, I watched an unnatural cloudy mist form. My eyes strained to see and my body shuddered as I became thoroughly aware that something besides wind, rain, green fog and roof shingles had entered the cabin. In the center of the cabin -- where the lightning had struck -- stood an utterly still and shadowy figure.

"Dean." Sam nudged me from behind.

"I see it, Sam."

With hurricane- force, the wind and rain gusted, still threatening to suck us up, yet the shadow never moved.

"What is it?" Sam questioned.

I felt around the wall, searching for anything I could grab hold of -- nothing.

A loud bang lit the cabin, lighting up our mystery form. Wild, shining, deep blue eyes glared at us. Her skin was pale green, bony fingers, sharp as talon nails, and a clump of long hair that clung around her wrinkled face like brown, stringy slim-- the kind of clumpy, brown shit you pluck from a clogged drain.

"Sure the hell isn't Kelly Clarkson," I announced, pressing Sam further into the corner when ugly took a step towards us. Her eyes crystallized, a low and furious growl coming from between foul, pointed green teeth.

"Storm Hag," Sam educated me.

"Crap-tacular!" I yelled over the wind.

What was a Storm Hag doing here. No telling why she'd left her favorite feeding grounds -- at the bottom of a lake or ocean -- snatching boats, the crew. Carnivorous bitch was...

"Dean, they eat …"

"Don't say it," I hissed, visions of Hannibal Lector dancing in my head.

I scanned the room, spying the weapon's bag still sitting on the floor, shocked the pack hadn't been sucked up into the twister. Didn't matter -- no ganking a Storm Hag -- only one thing to do -- get out of her way -- good luck with that now that she literally had got the drop on us.

An angry black cloud filled the room, lightning bolts lashing out. In the length of one heartbeat, the crazy hag burst forward, yanking me away from Sam, and flinging me to the farthest corner of the room. I hit the wall -- nearly KO'ed. Pain ripped through my already pounding head, but I staggered to my feet, fresh blood dripping down over my ear. Seaweed for hair was smart, stalk and hunt down the wounded, weaker quarry first. Between flashes of brightness, the howl of the wind, and my spinning vision I could hear her singing. She had Sam smashed into the corner -- wooing him. He seemed paralyzed, her long arms wrapped around him. The whole room seemed to explode. Silver bolts shot through the cabin like twisted rope; the wind was strong, pushing against me, immobilizing me like a bug trapped in an ice cube tray. Sam's head was bowed downward, the storm blowing his hair in a tangle over his eyes. Somehow he'd managed to get a hand around the Hag's throat, squeezing, causing her singing to falter. Sam tilted his head up, his face milky white, eyes slowly rising to meet mine.

I struggled, just wanting to move, get to Sam, get us out of here.

"D'n, go!" Sam yelled through grinding teeth.

Sam didn't have enough strength left to hold a monster hitter like her off much longer.

My mind was hazy, but my feet knew the way, planting themselves firmly on the ground. Just as I stood straight, Stormzilla broke Sam's choke hold, sending him hurling -- midair -- landing my injured brother to the floor.

"You bitch," I growled, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes falling on Sam

He tried to call out to me, but his voice faltered. Stormzilla was on him that quick, about to rip the flesh from his face. I only had seconds to do something. With all I had in me, I dropped back to the floor, under the radar of her wind, rolling shoulder over shoulder until I came to stand behind her. Was sound strategy until she turned her gaze on me. With one touch of her hand, a surge sent me flying back across the room. The front door blew open and I went sailing out of the cabin. The door banged shut, and I landed hard -- belly down -- gasping in wet dirt.

Everything was splotchy gray, confusion and dizziness coursing through me. The storm stripped branches, and leaves from the trees sending them flying helter-skelter. I struggled to lift my head up out of the mud, peering through the seething rain at the cabin. The small cottage rocked and shook. Streaks of lightning hit with colliding force, the swift current snatching the cabin from its foundation.

"What the frack…" I watched in horror, and disbelief as the building spun slowly toward the sky. My brain quickly popped back into first gear. I had to protect Sam, save Sam. "No." My voice was weak and trembling. "No." Scrambling, hands pushing off the soggy ground, I tried to stand, but the storm plopped me back down. "Sam!" I screamed, thrashing and clawing in the mud. Like being in a bad dream -- I couldn't budge. I kept my eyes set on the cabin the roar of the wind exploding, bursts of light near blinding. "Sam--get out!" The storm screeched and hissed. "Sammy!" Several windows shattered, and what was left of the roof shot up into the blackened sky. I finally managed to get off my knees, feet following, running through the mud toward the cabin. "Saaaaaaaaam!"

"Dean!" A dark shape rammed into my right side, knocking me back to the shaking ground.

_I turned, ready to fight, finding myself staring up into the eyes of... _"Bobby!"

"Stay put, boy!" Bobby held me down with one knee to my chest.

Son of a bitch, Bobby!" I snarled in surprise. " Sammy's still in there!" I fought to shove his knee off my chest.

Bobby wasn't Superman, but he was a lot stronger than I ever gave him credit for.

"Bobby, let me up!" I struggled as the sky cracked in two, drips of rain rushing down my face -- or were those tears.

"Dean!" Trust me, I can do this without a fight! You know there's no killing her."

I trembled. What choice did I have? In seconds Sam would be sucked up into the purple-black sky, and I doubted he'd be lucky enough to land in Oz -- kid didn't even bring his ruby slippers -- no way I'd ever get Sam back. "Hurry." I nodded.

Bobby released his hold. Dropping onto both knees in the mud, he raised his hands toward the sky and began to chant/pray in a sing-song tone. Sounded Native American, but I didn't know the words. For what seemed like a long time, nothing happened. The rain tumbled down, the cabin spun, rattling, and hovering five feet in the air as if tied to the sky by a rope. I could picture Sam trapped inside. The Storm Hag tearing him apart. Flinging blood and flesh around the room -- pieces of Sam sticking to the walls like spitballs. A sickening, putrid thing wormed through my gut, and I almost puked. I couldn't wait any longer for Bobby to complete his incantation. Sam needed me. I shot up out of the mud, but froze in utter shock as the wind and rain stopped. The sky lit early-morning gray, and the cabin plunked with a loud, wet smack back to the ground.

"Go, Dean. Get your brother!" Bobby's sharp voice set me back to action.

Slip-sliding across the mud, I leapt up the three small steps leading to the porch. The half-hanging door creaked loudly as I shoved my way inside, nervously scanning the wrecked room. Parts of the floorboards were buckled and torn up, huge holes shot through the walls -- never mind the missing roof. The few objects that hadn't been sucked from the cabin were tossed around. Several rusted pots were embedded in the walls like a sword stuck in a rock. The mattress was shoved up on its side against a wall, torn and bloody -- no sign of Sam. Had we been too late? Had Sam been sucked out of the cabin? The icy silence kept me rooted in the doorway.

"Sam," I barely could whisper.

"Looking for me?" Sam's voice was shaky as he flipped what was left of the mattress off himself.

"Thank God." I let out a long sigh.

"Ow," Sam uttered a cry his good hand coming to grip at his injured shoulder.

"Killer party, Sam." I crossed the room quickly crouching down and shoving the mattress the rest of the way off him. "Let me see you." I pushed back his bangs, noting several small cuts dotting his face, and more than a few deep purple bruises on his neck, blood seeping through the shredded and dirty gauze of his shoulder blade.

"How's it look?" Sam winced.

"Probably popped a few stitches. You okay?" I asked trying to get my pounding heart to slow.

"S-sure." Sam gave a confused glance around the room. "Where is she?" He tried to sit up.

"Scitso frenique, bitch is gone." Slipping a hand behind his back, I helped ease Sam up.

"How?" He breathed heavily.

"You blithering idgit's want to come on out of there?"

"Ask Bobby." I shrugged, glancing over my shoulder just as Bobby came to stand in the broken doorway.

"You two are a couple of real wild bulls -- and with bulls -- comes horns."

"Meaning?" Sam and I mumbled in puzzled unison.

"Meaning… you two are going to be the death of me, yet. I been tracking that supernatural storm, knowing you were about to have a nasty encounter with…"

"Stormzilla," I injected. "Pffft."

"What the hell does 'pffft' mean, boy?"

"Nothing," I said.

"'Cause it don't sound like nothin'. You want to hear the story or not?" Bobby grumbled.

"Yes, sir." I nodded, adjusting the wrap as best I could against Sam's shoulder.

"That'd be more like it. I came looking for you two girls after you didn't show, mapped out the fact you were headed right for her. Figured you either got caught up in her fury or Dean stopped to have his toenails painted."

Sam laughed out loud. "Ow, ow, ow," he winced.

"Don't laugh, kid." Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Figured you were rolling your hair up with pins and curlers."

"Ha! Ha!" My turn to laugh out loud, wrapping an arm around Sam and getting him slowly to his feet.

"Whatever, Dean." Sam's head bobbed, and I tightened my hold to keep him in upright.

"Found your daddy's car," Bobby continued. "Blood in the driver seat, tracked you to the cabin. Figured it was your blood…" Bobby jerked his head toward me. "Why the hell would you let your brother drive in that weather? You know how the kid zones out."

"Told you, Sam." We took two steps toward the door.

"Told me wha'?" Sam's eyes rolled back up into their sockets, his weight nearly taking us both to our knees.

"Hey, come back here!" I tugged him up. "Sam!" I gave a little shake, still working my way toward the door. "Keep hold of the ball, Sam, not time for a touchdown yet. You hearing me?"

"Not so much," Sam muttered. "Where we going?"

"Forward, pal."

Need a hand with him?" Bobby asked.

"No, " I panted. "I can handle Jeff Gordon, here, but you can grab the gear."

"How 'bout a kick in the pants instead?" Bobby huffed.

We'd obviously scared the crap out the guy.

"No, sir." Sam swayed as we made our way out the door.

Bobby grumbled something else I couldn't make out, following right behind us.

"Bobby, what was that chant, anyway?" I glanced over my shoulder.

"Old Indian hymn that was taught to me -- calms the storm."

I moved Sam as fast as I could through the mud, him making small pain-filled noises with each step.

"You sure you don't need help with super stretch?" Bobby asked.

"We're good."

"I know you need a car," Bobby smirked, passing us by. "Got your sardine can loaded up on my flatbed."

"Come on! That's my baby you're talking about," I growled, gripping Sam tighter, the fact he was shaking too much not escaping my attention.

"Boy," Bobby called back at me. "'Bout damn time you gave up the crush you have on that car. She's not your type."

"More my type than Stormzilla." I hiked a thumb indicating the cabin behind us.

"You are a chick magnet, Dean," Bobby laughed.

"What about you?" I questioned, looking over at Sam, who was stumbling along like he had the worst hangover ever. "Who's this Indian squaw whispering incantations in your ear?" I continued to question Bobby.

"Never said he, it… never said she was a she…" Bobby tripped over his tongue, and picking up his pace.

I smirked knowingly. "So tell me about her. What's her name?" I raised my voice.

"Whats her name, ain't none of your concern. What you don't know, boy -- can't hurt me," Bobby exclaimed in a gruff tone, climbing into the truck.

"Ah, guys." Sam pointed to his shoulder.

"Bro?" I questioned, locking eyes with Sam.

"I can make it, Dean, jus..." Mouth still open, Sam tripped over his own feet, scrunching his eyes shut.

"Come on Speed Racer, one more lap you get the checkered flag!" I caught him by a soggy arm -- he was totally taxed.

"Rather be Jimmie Johnson." Sam stubbornly forced his eyes open. "I'm fine." Waving me off with a hand he tried to keep walking -- Sam's feet going every which direction.

"What the hell are you doing?" I staggered under his clumsey gait.

"Walking," Sam mumbled.

"That what you call this dance?"

"Funny," Sam garbled.

"Not so much." I sucked in a breath. "Try again with the walking bit, buddy."

"'K." Sam's head plopped to my shoulder, the wind picking up his hair, blowing strands into my nose.

"Dude, you're hair is killing me."

"Not my hair you got to worry about, 's my driving that might kill you," Sam mumbled, putting one foot in front of the other.

We both stopped at the back of Bobby's flatbed, examining the damage done to the Impala.

"Son of a… shit," we both mumbled under our breaths.

Finally making it to the passenger side door of Bobby's truck we paused to catch our breaths.

"Sorry about the car," Sam said.

"Don't worry, Sam, magic fingers…" I wiggled all five. "… Dean can fix anything."

"I'll supply the quarters and the…" Sam suddenly had no control over his eyes as they rolled, jerking violently up into his head.

"Sam!" His muscles tightened. then went slack as he passed out "Sammy." I barely caught his sagging body.

"Crap, boy!" Bobby was out of the truck and by my side. "Kid's blood pressure has to be lower than the belly of a flounder," Bobby said, pressing a cloth to Sam's shoulder. "Bleeding's started up again."

Bobby helped me get Sam in the truck and shut the door, racing around to the driver side, and getting us on the road. One hand on the wheel, Bobby reached under the seat, grabbing a handful of rags and shoved them my way.

"Here."

"Thanks, Bobby."

I pressed the wad to Sam's wound, landing a hand hard to his back.

"Welcome, boy," Bobby whispered under his breath, damn well knowing I was thanking him for saving Sam.

"Ahhh." Sam gave a low moan, wiggling in my hold.

The bleeding wasn't life threatening, but there wasn't much more I could do until we got to Bobby's place. Sam would need a few more stitches, the thought made me sick. I kept my hand firm to his shoulder watching out the front window. The sky was completely clear now, not a drop of rain. I swallowed, feeling sick, I'd seen Sam bleed plenty of times, and the feeling I got each time never got any better.

"How's our boy?" Bobby asked, fifteen minutes later.

I pulled my hand away and leaned Sam a little forward to get a better look at the wound.

"I think I finally got the bleeding to stop." I eased him back.

"He'll be fine, Dean. He's alive, that's what counts."

I watched Sam's head gently bonking up and down on my shoulder. Bobby maneuvered the truck around the debris littering the roadway.

"Yeah," I sighed sadly. "And he'll have another scar to prove it."

"And it's gettin' those scares that make all of us who we are," Bobby offered up his wisdom.

I relaxed further back in the seat, remembering the first time mom had placed all eight pounds, nine ounces of the cone-headed, red, wrinkled baby in my arms. Sam was only an hour old then -- and crying like a girl already. I recalled how that worried me, kid wailed like he was in awful pain. The first thing I'd asked my mom was if Sammy was okay.

I sighed. Even then, even at the young age of four -- not much more than a baby myself -- I just wanted to keep Sam close, make sure he was okay, never let him go. Sam shifted in my hold, curling closer, whimpering softly.

"Big baby," I mumbled.

Things hadn't changed all that much. Sam was still big, still had a cone-head, and he was still my baby brother.

**Note: Was truly ending the story here, but added a few more lines below. Thank you so much for your time!**

**Be well,Karen**

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EPILOGUE

Bobby had drove the whole way back to his place, forcing me to listen to country radio. If I had to hear one more song about rusty old pickup trucks, chicks busting up a guy's awesome ride, achy-breaky hearts, Elvis's blue-sued shoes, or another, somebody- done- somebody- wrong song -- I might shoot myself in both ears.

Sam was still curled against my side, head on my shoulder, snoring loudly -- warm breath wet on my neck. The bleeding stayed in control, but he was shivering hard, even though we'd wrapped him in a wool blanket and Bobby had cranked the heat in the truck full blast.

"Sam, we're here." I gave a little shoulder shrug. Sam's head jostled back and forth slightly, but he didn't wake up. "Sammy," I whispered in his ear.

"So." I barely heard his faint voice.

"So, you awake in there?"

"Uh-huh." Sam's eyes flickered open.

"Back to that again," I snorted touching his forehead with the back of my hand -- pretty warm. "How you doing?"

"How you think?"

"Think you have a minor infection, you're feverish."

"Hungry. Tired. Kelly Clarkson in paradise," Sam mumbled.

"Dude! I'll share a room, food, the same last name, but hell if I'm sharing my dreams with you," I chuckled, Sam nuzzled closer. "Man, you're drooling on my shoulder, like a Saint Bernard. Think you can sit up?" Sam sighed, stiffly lifting his head, and squinting into the morning sunlight bouncing off the hood of the truck.

"Wait." He leaned back against the seat, looking around as if he was trying to figure out what was going on. "Where's Bobby? What's going on?"

"He's inside." I gestured toward Bobby's house. "Said us two lamebrain's need to wash up, check your wound, by then he'd have kibble and grits ready for us to suck down. Think you can eat something?"

"Dog food?" Sam grumbled.

"Sam, better not let Bobby hear you call his cooking that."

"Uh-huh." Sam scrubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Quit with that, would you?" I hissed, opening the truck door.

"Quit with what?" Sam looked at me with wide puppy-dog eyes, the look that could drown me like a neon tsunami.

"Never mind," I said, inching us out of the car, and heading into Bobby's house.

Didn't take much to get Sam out of his wet clothes and settled, his limbs completely compliant to my every bend. I covered him, and he sighed finally not shaking anymore as he melted in exhaustion into Bobby's couch.

Sam's eyelids refused to work -- flicking open and closed.

"Dean?" He wrinkled his forehead.

"Yeah, buddy?"

Sam didn't say anymore, blinking, seemingly searching for his train of thought -- but Sam's train had sped on down the tracks.

"Just try to rest, Sam." I wrung the dishrag out, dabbing Sam's heated forehead, cheeks, throat.

The ice-water, worked like a fire extinguisher seeming to relax him, bringing down his fever a notch or two. Sam would be up and around soon. Kid was tough, Bobby was right..

_Sam finally seemed to find that train, ungluing his eyes. "_Why's the room spinning, Dean?"

_I ventured a quick look around. _"It's not, pal."

"You sure?" he asked weakly.

"Absolutely."

"Good." Sam gave a pained grimace. "For a minute there I thought I was going to through up."

"Good. For a minute there you had me worried." I leaned in real close. "You're going to be fine, Sam."

"Thank you, Doctor Green eyes," Sam grumbled, arching his back a little trying to get comfortable -- or get away from me.

"You're welcome." I patted his chest.

"What about the Impala?" Sam shuddered

_I sat back with a sigh_. "My poor baby's been through hell. Bought it on thunder road, when a tree fell. She's all covered in blood, mud, tree sap, and who knows what other kind of crap. May as well have had a box of dynamite blow up inside the trunk. And…"

"Sounds like a country song." Sam smiled, closing his eyes.

I merely grunted.

The end


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